


I just don't know what to do with myself

by Ani_V



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Clarke doesn't feel really well and of course Bellamy helps, F/M, Jobi Nuts, No plot at all, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season 1 Episode 8, Sex Pollen, really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8811520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ani_V/pseuds/Ani_V
Summary: They stay quiet for a while, Clarke trying to forget the parts of her body that are screaming at her —if she were alone she could solve it by touching herself, but Bellamy is there, watching her— and Bellamy doing nothing, the sound of the fire almost too loud compared to their breaths.“Clarke”“Hmm?”“Does it hurt?”“What?” Clarke opens her eyes, staring at him. Bellamy is biting his lower lip and at some point, he must have run his hands through his hair because it’s a mess. She just wants to touch it.“Are you hurting right now?”Yeah, she is.Her muscles ache and her teeth are chattering loudly, despite the blanket and the fire. She feels shivers and at the same time an almost irrepressible need to remove all the clothes she’s wearing. Her skin is on fire.“No” she lies.But he knows.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really have a good excuse for this one. I wanted to write something funny and pwp -because with these two is always angst and you know, the end of the world blahblahblah and the hiatus is killing me- so i ended up writing about what would had happen if the jobi nuts were an aphrodisiac. It's a common prompt and theres a couple of fics about it around here too.  
> And that's the reason for this stupid, ridiculous fic. Really. Its just porn and bad jokes. Probably they're both OOC and all.  
> But its kinda sweet, so im posting it.

It's not Bellamy's fault. Clarke knows it. Technically, she's been the one who asked him to go with her, so Clarke has no real reason to be angry. She’s not angry. She’s feeling something but she doesn’t know what yet.

It’s something in her stomach, like a sting, but it's probably just the berries and nuts she's had for breakfast that morning. Clarke barely has had a minute to relax. She couldn’t sleep well, not after the storm and Finn’s surgery. Not after knowing that the grounder was still tied up inside the dropship. She didn’t even have a minute to stop and think about Finn, and Raven and her. She didn’t even have half a second to stop to think about his mother and his father. Or Wells.

That morning she already had a new mission on her hands, one that Kane and Jaha had found urgent, and for once Clarke agreed: finding supplies for the winter was a priority and if there was a shelter that could still have resources, they should check it out. That way, even if there weren’t any supplies, at least they’d have a refuge, a way to escape the winter and survive.

God, she was tired of sleeping on the damp earth, in those tents that barely made a difference at all. She was sick of having her hair stuck to her forehead, and sweat on the back of her neck. The ground had been fun for like... half a minute. Now she only had a broken heart, a strange soreness in her thighs —that she’s not going to think about— and her fingernails always stained with dirt.

Clarke grunts aloud, and she is in a bad mood, and it’s not anyone's fault, but holy god, even the morning was a shitty one. At least the sun could have come out, but no, NO. She had to go out looking for something that everyone needed, because there was no one else to trust and on top of that, it had to be raining. The ground was so wet her boots left deep marks on the ground.

"You okay?”

Bellamy's voice makes her jump on the spot because she was so self-centered she almost forgot he is there. Almost. Because for some reason she doesn’t understand _,_ her body has just decided that moment to notice the heat coming from the boy's body. The answer? A lot.  Even though he is a few steps behind her, she can feel it, vibrating through the air, and Clarke is surprised that the water is not evaporating as soon as it falls on his shoulders.

"Perfectly," she says between her teeth.

Maybe she’s not. Definitely, it’s not possible to be feeling Bellamy’s body heat from where he is, like an aura that surrounds him. Her teeth are shaking a little, and her stomach is killing her.

"Your cheeks are red. And you're sweating." Bellamy advances a few steps to stand beside her, looking at her from above because although he’s not too tall, she’s short “Are you sure you feel okay? You don’t look good."

Clarke's reply is barely a growl and the boy doesn’t seem to be content with it, but Clarke doesn’t care. Now that he says it, she has a strange feeling in her arms, like a tingling that doesn’t go away, and there is a heat spreading, from her neck to her back, burning her.

"It's nothing," she answers, and Bellamy raises an eyebrow, but she just rolls her eyes. The boy doesn’t look very good this morning, and he doesn’t seem to be in a good mood either, but he doesn’t say anything again.

They walk in silence, Bellamy leading the way now, and Clarke feels a rush of heat rising up from her esophagus to her cheeks. For a second she thinks she's going to puke, but it disappears just as fast and she blinks a couple of times to clear her mind.

"Come on, if we’re lucky we’ll arrive before dark” Bellamy hurries.

"Lead the way, Blake," she says, even though all she wants to do is tell him to fuck off.

The boy's laughter bubbles in her stomach, and that only seems to encourage a fire than Clarke didn’t even know she had lit. What the hell was going on?

 

*

“So… I just hold it on my shoulder?” Clarke asks as she raises the rifle and tries to fix her sight. It’s a difficult job considering that she is sweating nonstop and has tremors. Not too strong, it's not ... She’s not really shaking, she thinks, as she realizes the rifle doesn’t even tremble. It's like a tingling sensation below her skin, and her shirt is starting to bother her. And her pants. God, even her socks.

 “Yeah, just a little higher now” Bellamy moves behind her, his presence near her body is now almost like a temperature marker. He’s too close, and if she closes her eyes and smells him — dirt, apples, rain— the heat accumulating in her body rises to the stratosphere. It's ridiculous. She doesn’t even like Bellamy! —She may have noticed he has a nice body, but it's not Clarke's fault Bellamy likes to show off around camp.

The boy puts his hand on her shoulder, directing the movement of the rifle to position it as he thinks it’s correct, and he doesn’t even touch her skin. What the fuck, he doesn’t even touch her t-shirt, because Clarke is still wearing her jacket, but she swears she can feel his heat through all the layers, and suddenly a sharp stab of pain crosses her. From her throat to her stomach, and it’s so strong that her knees fail her for a second. The air escapes her in a groan of unexpected pain.

 “Are you sure you are okay? You’re giving me crazy eyes right now” Bellamy pulls his hand away from her shoulder and frowns as he looks at her, but Clarke can’t think of anything right now. With him so close, it's like something is clouding her senses. She knows that his mouth is moving, because she is _looking_ at it. And she knows he's watching her like she's gone mad. But all Clarke can do is stare at his mouth like those lips suddenly had all the secrets of the universe and she is dying to discover them.

Bellamy’s hair is wet and stuck to his forehead. It looks messy and adorable. And touchable, her conscience suddenly thinks, while another wave of heat make her bite her mouth to be quiet.

“I’m…” Clarke inhales through her nose, and expels the air slowly through clenched teeth, struggling to concentrate because it seems that a haze has wrapped her head and she can’t even think. She makes a quick inventory of what may be happening to her, because after all she is the closest thing to a doctor they have on the ground. "I don’t know" she finally answers because that's the truth.

Her stomach hurts, yes, but it's more like a burning sensation, not a sharp pain. She is shivering and sweating, and her clothes feel itchy on her skin. Maybe it's an allergy? She keeps checking herself mentally and realizes that every time she breathes her nipples hurt against her bra, and she is squeezing her legs so tight that her thigh muscles hurt.

What the fuck?

“You do really look like shit. What did you have for breakfast?” he asks.

“Just berries and nuts. Like everyone else in camp”

“I just ate berries. Don’t like the taste of those nuts”

“And I’m the spoiled girl” she answers back, because bicker with him it’s like at instinct at this point.

“It’s not my fault they taste like shit” and he laughs.

And apparently, his laugh also has an effect on her, because another flash of electricity runs through her body, painful and hot, leaving her burning hot. God, air. Where has all the air gone?

She utters a groan, because she can’t help it and closes her eyes, trying to recover. The rifle in her hands falls to the ground making a loud sound, but it doesn’t worry her. What worries her is the heat spreading through her body and the fact that, if she is honest with herself, it’s traveling to her groin.

It’s impossible that she is horny in a situation like this. What the hell was going on? _What’s erotic about being sick, and not knowing if you were going to faint or puke? Please God, do not let me vomit breakfast in front of Bellamy_ , she thinks as she squeezes her eyes shut and breathes through her mouth.

“You’re even redder now, Clarke. If this is because of that nuts, we need to get back to camp. Everyone is eating those”

“I know” she manages, breathing slowly. “Just… a second”

“You feel sick?”

“Yeah”

Clarke expects Bellamy to answer but the boy chooses that moment to touch her. He puts his hand on her forehead, checking her temperature. And it's a hand and it's a forehead. There is nothing erotic in those two parts, but apparently, Clarke's body is watching porn where she isn’t because when Bellamy's warm hand stays there, the girl feels an almost suffocating heat running through her body.

 “God, you are burning up, Clarke” Bellamy looks really concern now.

But Bellamy doesn’t move his hand. He lowers it from her forehead to her cheek, touching it softly and the contact, that has produced an almost suffocating sensation at first, it’s now like a balsam, calming her. Something in her body slows down, and the temperature seems to drop. The pain disappears. Unintentionally, she follows his hand, and when Bellamy tries to remove it, she moves forward, seeking contact.

She doesn’t open her eyes but she senses the smile in Bellamy's voice.

 

“Feels good?” his voice is soft and husky, like expensive whisky in a fine glass and she wants to drink it all. 

“Hmmm” And for her utter shame, she rubs against his hand because, God, his touch on her skin feels great. She no longer feels bad. She just needs him to keep touching her. Although the logic in it escapes her.

What kind of poison does this?

"Come on, let's go outside. You need fresh air” with that, Bellamy steals the contact of his hand from her and the pain surrounds her again. Even worse than before, now. She can feel her pulse in her throat, her heartbeat so fast her heart is going to get out of her chest and her nipples hurt. She’s hurting so badly that she has to bite her mouth while following Bellamy to the exit.

"Do you want to go back to camp or rest for a while?" The boy asks, and his voice is a purr she can almost feel like a caress, almost but not quite, and Clarke touches her face with her hand, just like he did, in an attempt to feel the same relief. It doesn’t work.

She thinks about walking back to camp —it's probably the wisest decision because if the rest of the kids are feeling just as bad as she is, someone has to warn them to stop eating those damn nuts. Assuming that’s what is going on — but it’s too much. She has no strength left in her legs, and every time her thighs rub against each other she feels a wave of heat so strong she thinks she is going to faint.

 _Rest_ , she thinks _, if you lie down for a few minutes you’ll get better._

“I wanna lay down for a while” she answers, even though she knows they should be coming back by now.

But Bellamy seems to know what her answer was going to be, because he has already removed his backpack and he’s lighting a small fire.

“I’m not cold” she murmurs.

“Yeah, sure. Your teeth are chattering”

And it’s true, she’s not cold, but it’s like she has a fever or something.

“’kay”

Clarke lies down and lets Bellamy light the fire and sit a few feet from her. She takes off her own backpack and puts it under her head, lying on her side because if she presses her legs together, the constant beat between them shuts down for a while.

It feels good, so she whines.

Bellamy takes it as a bad sign.

 “I’m going back to the bunker. Grab a couple of those blankets”

She wants to stop him, tell him not to leave her because without his heat it seems that everything hurts more but before she finds the strength to talk, the boy is gone. Clarke's eyes are closed, and she’s biting her mouth hard.  She tries to separate her bra from her breast a little, but it’s a hard task and she’s tired.

Come on, Clarke, think, she tells herself. What the fuck is going on? There has been nothing abnormal in her behavior. She hasn’t touched anything weird or had drunk anything other than the clean water they had been drinking for days now.

Without reason, the grounder’s diary comes to her mind.  With all those drawings, herbs and plants, animals and landscapes. Then she remembers the poisons, because she’s not going to forget about that any time soon.

Poison, she thinks. It has to be poison.

Clarke doesn’t know how but she knows she's dying. It has nothing to do with nuts or food.

Noise of someone approaching forces her to open her eyes, but it’s just Bellamy.

"Get up for a second" he asks.

 “ugh”

“I know, but it’s going to be better, I promise”

The comforting tone he uses with her is something she would never have thought Bellamy Blake had in his repertoire —Well, that was a lie. Because she had seen him with his sister and knew Bellamy was capable of it.

Clarke sits up, wrapping herself with her arms, trying to make the sensations disappear, and then she stands up with effort.

"Thanks" he says, and puts a blanket quickly on the floor, covering the girl's backpack so that although it’s still a hard pillow, at least it’d be softer. Then he waits for Clarke to lie down and covers her with another blanket.  At least, it doesn’t rain anymore, she thinks.

Bellamy, who has knelt to cover her, gets up, ready to sit on the other side, and —Clarke supposes— to watch her closely, but she stops him.

“Don’t go” she hates the broken sound of her voice but if she’s dying she doesn’t want to do it on her own, alone and quiet.  

“I’m not going anywhere” he smiles small, just a smirk, but it’s enough to change his features, making him look almost too handsome. It hurts just to look at him.

“Just… sit here for a while” she doesn’t say please, but her tone is gentle enough. If he’s going to say anything about it, he just shakes his head and nod, sitting beside her.

“You’re going to be fine” he assures her “I know it sucks to be sick, but it’s not the end of the world, Clarke” And then Bellamy touches her again. He traces his knuckles down her cheek, touching her slow and soft.  Softness she believed impossible a while ago, because sometimes he was just broken glass ~~es~~ and sharpen knives.

“It’s poison” she confesses.

“It’s not” he assures her “You would be passed out by now”

And well ... that's true. With the time that had passed since the first symptoms began to appear, she would probably be passed out on the ground by now.

But that only leads her to one conclusion.

 

“Shit” she murmurs.

Bellamy is still touching her, and his touch feels so good she bites her lip and turn her head, giving him more access. Bellamy stops for a second when he notices the movement.

“What it is?” he asks.

“It’s not poison”

“That’s just what I told you”

Clarke opens her eyes to look properly at him, because he’s doing the same and it’s impossible to ignore it.

“It feels better when you touch me” she tries to explain.

“You hitting on me now, Clarke?” he arches an eyebrow, and seriously, she wants to fucking kill him.

“I’m trying to explain what’s happening to me” Clarke gests up, helping herself with her arms, until she’s confronting him “It’s an aphrodisiac”

“An apro… shit Clarke, are you hallucinating?” He touches her again, his palm against her forehead, to check her temperature, “Sure you are” he murmurs, nodding to himself.

“Look, I’m not, okay? I’m having pains. And… well, pains, alright?” she blushes, hard, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the fucking aphrodisiac “Don’t make me explain, please”

He laughs. The bastard has the guts to laugh at her, and his laugh makes her wet between her legs, like a wave of pleasure, and shit. It hurts. She closes her eyes again, because at this point she believes that’s the only solution to this mess.

“Are you telling me you are horny right now?” Bellamy’s voice is an octave lower suddenly and she's not seeing him but she knows he's checking her up and down. Somehow her nipples know it and her body does as well.

But she is not going to answer that question.

“Look, I just have to sleep it off, alright? I don’t know why or what is affecting me but I’m sure it will wear out eventually” and with a sigh, she just goes back to where she was before, covering herself with the blanket.  

“This is insane” Bellamy answers instead, but he doesn’t move. Clarke knows it’s because she has asked him to stay before.  

They stay quiet for a while, Clarke trying to forget the parts of her body that are screaming at her — if she were alone she could solve it by touching herself, but Bellamy is there, watching her— and Bellamy doing nothing, the sound of the fire almost loud compared to their breaths.

“Clarke”

“Hmm?”

“Does it hurt?”

“What?” Clarke opens her eyes, staring at him. Bellamy is biting his lower lip and at some point, he must have run his hands through his hair because it’s a mess. She just wants to touch it.

“Are you hurting right now?”

Yeah, she is.

Her muscles ache and her teeth are chattering loudly, despite the blanket and the fire. She feels shivers and at the same time an almost irrepressible need to remove all the clothes she’s wearing. Her skin is on fire.

“No” she lies.

And he knows.

Somehow, he knows she's lying to him because he's still staring at her and he raises an eyebrow. The boy is biting his mouth, and he runs his hand over his face, like he’s trying to figure something out.

"Would you feel better if I lay down with you?" He asks, surprising her.

“What?” Yes, her body seems to scream. No, no, no, it’s all she can think. If he lies beside her, she’s going to start rubbing herself against him, like a fucking cat on heat.

“You said you felt better when I touched you. Maybe it’ll past faster that way”

No, it won’t, she can already tell.

It will probably only make it worse.

But since he has suggested it her body seems more than happy with the idea, and the pain she feels increases. A cramp pierces her back and bends her down, causing her to whine aloud, and Bellamy seems to have enough.

"Wait. Let me hold you" he says, without thinking twice about anything else. In the days they’ve been on the ground, Clarke has discovered that was the way he was: stubborn and spontaneous.

Clarke doesn’t complain when she feels Bellamy's body sneaking into the blanket behind her. It takes a while, because they are on hard ground, but in the end, he just adjusts his body behind her and then, tentatively, he puts an arm around her waist.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice caressing her nape. A shiver roams through her body.

“You’re not…God” She bites her tongue. She can’t possibly be having this conversation right now. “I can’t do this right now, Bellamy. Why don’t you just leave and let me sleep”

“Not going to happen, princess” he’s stubborn, the bastard “I’m not what?” he insists.

She sighs, frustrated, _sexually_ frustrated. She can feel Bellamy’s body on her back, and the only thing she wants to do is lay back a little, pressing her body against his chest, being able to feel his voice’s vibrations on her skin.

“It feels better when you touch me. My skin”

Nothing happens for a couple of seconds, Bellamy's hand very still on the waist of the girl. Clarke can feel it’s heat through the shirt, but it’s not enough, and it only makes her cramps get worse, bending her over.

“Okay. Skin. Yeah, we can totally do that” he says, like it’s not the most bizarre thing in the world “Come on, take of your clothes”

“I’m not going to…”

Bellamy sits up, pulling off his jacket and tossing it aside, like he had tons of jackets and that particular one was not important. He looks irritated.

“Does it really hurt or are you having fun right now?” he challenges her.

“It hurts” Clark answers through gritted teeth because he's pissing her off now. He’s doing it on purpose, but she’s too gone to notice. The next thing Bellamy does is pull his t-shirt over his head in a fluid motion and Clarke can’t think of anything else. His skin is tanned. He’s got like a lot of dark skin, and has his shoulders always been so broad? Maybe it's because she's still lying down, and from this angle everything looks different, but Clarke is so close that she can see the freckles, scattered down his shoulders, and her mouth dries because she wants to kiss them. All of them.

"Jesus Christ" she murmurs to herself, because she has to stop thinking about those things or she's going to get in a lot of trouble. At least Bellamy doesn’t know why she’s said it, and he still thinks she's just being stubborn.

“Come on, princess. You’re not a prude, are you?”

“Shut up”

And arguing with him helps her to feel better, but in the end, she has to recognize that the boy's idea is good.

"With all the people this could have happen….” she mutters, as she sits up to remove her jacket and gray undershirt.

“Yeah, I’ll bet you’d prefer to be having this kind of trouble with a teenager”

"What does that ...?" she says as she removes her hair from her face. The cold air feels good against her burning skin, and her gray bra —gray, big, and ugly, just like all the underwear in the ark was— is thin enough for Bellamy to see her nipples. "What does that have to do with the price of rice in China?"

 “At least I’m not interested in you, Clarke” he explains “And I’m not molesting you for being half naked, am I?”

“Charming” she rolls her eyes.

"Honest" he answers back, "Come on, lay down" and Clarke wants to argue back, she really wants but she can’t because she knows he's right. For some reason she doesn’t understand, it has bothered her when he’s said he was not interested in her, but please, she was not even interested in him before that morning so ... what the fuck? True, there was a kind of connection between them, one she didn’t seem to share with anyone else, but after losing her best friend, Clarke needed to fill that emptiness. And yes, she had to admit it, Bellamy was good friend material. _A friend you have half naked behind you, because he wants to help you,_ she reminds herself.

Clarke breathes through her nose, trying to calm herself, as she lies on her side and covers herself with the blanket. Only a moment later Bellamy presses himself against her from behind, his chest hot against her back, a firm arm on her waist, and his hand —oh, god, his blessed hand— laying on her stomach, open and warm.

A chill runs up Clarke spine and she lets out a relieved sigh. The heat seems to subside, she no longer feels fire in her lungs, and her body relaxes against Bellamy’s.

“Better?”

“Yeah”

He doesn’t do anything else, he doesn’t nuzzle her shoulder or the back of her neck, but he tightens his arm around her, and leaves his hand on her navel, resting there.

She knows she’s burning hot but he doesn’t say a thing.

“Come on, sleep. I’ll keep watch”

And she’s too tired to discuss him. The pain is gone, and now all her muscles are feeling loosen. She feels his steady heartbeat against her back and his arm around her, and it’s good.

She doesn’t even notice when she falls asleep.

 

*

When she wakes up, it’s with a groan on her lips. She feels her pulse in her throat and the air she exhales is so hot that it burns her nostrils. She doesn’t open her eyes, because she doesn’t know if she’s still asleep or really awake, but she realizes that at some point her belt and trousers have been unbuckled and she has put her hand between her legs in an attempt to relieve the pain. She's not really doing anything, just cupping herself, but the pain has come back with vengeful instinct. She notices she has her other hand inside one of the cups of her bra, and she was touching her own nipple. She is panting, and she doesn’t know if the earth is shacking or it’s just her, but her whole body hurts, and perhaps the only solution is to touch herself.

She presses two fingers against the nipple she was touching and the pain seems to fade away as a surge of pleasure passes through her. It’s not really satisfaction, just relief, but Clarke doesn’t care at this point because it feels good, and god, anything but pain.

She tries to separate her legs a little, to get her hand inside her panties, when she realizes the body behind her. Clarke stands still, paralyzed on the spot, because if he's sleeping — _please, be sleeping_ — the last thing she wants to do is wake him up.

 “Keep going” His voice a hoarse command.

She wants to speak, really. She needs to apologize or something but Bellamy grabs her hip, a strong grip, urging her.

“Keep going, Clarke” he repeats himself.

“I’m not touching myself in front of you”

He laughs, and the sound reverberates thought her body, her skin absorbing it and with her fingers barely inside her underwear, she can feel her clitoris pulsing. It's ridiculous, but it's happening to her.

She doesn’t see it, but she feels him shrugging behind her.

“If it helps” he says, like it’s not a big deal.

“Just please, shut up” she feels her cheeks burning up, and she’s so embarrassed right now she just wants to die.

“It’s not a big deal, Clarke. Everyone does it”

She doesn’t really want to know. Nop. She is definitely not imagining Bellamy touching himself, alone in his tent, naked on his bed, biting his mouth, sweating sex and curses. No.

“Not going to happen” she says through gritted teeth.

“And I’m the stubborn one” she can feel him shaking his head.

And then she feels him getting closer. He used to be a safe distance away, now? Fully glued against her, from top to bottom. Bellamy's mouth ends over Clarke's shoulder and the girl feels him breathing. Then he strokes her with his nose.

“What are you doing, Blake?”

“Helping you”

“Helping me” she echoes, like she’s stupid, because he has pressed his hips against her ass and that’s definitely a hard on. So much for not being interested in her, huh? She wants to laugh at him but she can’t even think, her body coming back to life, the pain going away, relieve such a sweet taste in her mouth.

“Yeah.” He opens his mouth on her shoulder, leaving a wet kiss there. And then he keeps going up, pulling Clarke's hair aside with his nose as he caresses her. When he reaches the girl's ear, he talks to her and his hot breath makes her arch “I don’t want you to feel too self-conscious. Like this is awkward. Or wrong. Come on, touch yourself. I’m not letting you get blue balls if I can avoid it”

She laughs despite herself.

“You know I can’t really have those, right?”

“I’m not so sure anymore” he answers back, the smile against her shoulder again, and she’s not going to do it, damn him and his voice, but he doesn’t give her much of a choice.

Without warning, he grabs her wrist, and then slides his palm over hers, lacing their fingers between her legs. Clarke's breathing becomes quick, a constant gasp, and Bellamy moves their hands until he is covering her completely.

God, she's dripping wet. Burning and liquid, wetting the palm of her hand and fingers. Bellamy has to be feeling it. Bellamy's fingers touch her, intertwined with her own and the boy groans against her shoulder, advancing with his hips. His erection is a burning brand against the girl's thigh.

“I thought…” she says, gasping, eyes closed and –gold help her—moving against their hands, arching her hips because it feels too good to stop now. She can be embarrassed about it later. “I thought you weren’t interested in me”

“You’re kind of coming against me, princess”

“I’m… not…”

But Bellamy doesn’t seem to have enough with that touch they’re sharing so he opens her more with his thigh and release her fingers.

“Yeah, you are” His voice is husky and drowned, and he is breathing hard against her. Clarke can’t do anything but feel "Keep touching yourself" he asks, while he moves away from her body.

It's almost instantaneous. Bellamy pulls back a little, enough to push at her shoulder until she is lying on her back and he’s kneeling between the girl's legs, but the pain goes through her in waves.

She moans, but it has nothing to do with her fingers touching her flesh. She moans because it hurts her, because Bellamy is not touching her, and why the fuck is he not touching her?

“Shh” he says, looking at her. He has his hands on his thighs and he’s sitting on his heels. He has thrown the blanket back at some point, and Clarke is now aware that it’s very dark and only the flames of the fire allow her to see him, drawing shadows and contours against Bellamy's chest. His eyes look like two black coals, almost as dark as the sky, but perhaps it’s just that Clarke sees everything in shadows.

Another chill goes through her, and it doesn’t matter if Bellamy is watching, she moves the hand between her legs, making small circles with her fingers, but the relief doesn’t come and the pain is still there.

“I need you to…”

“I know” he answers back, nodding, running his hands through his hair. He pushes it back and it falls back into his eyes, but the movement is mesmerizing. Clarke stares at his biceps contracting and the boy breathing restlessly. She likes what she sees, and it has nothing to do with the situation she's in. "Shh, I know. It's going to get better”

She doesn’t know what he means, but at this point, she doesn’t care, really. She just wants the pain gone. She discovers it soon enough, though. Bellamy crouches forward, dropping his head over her sternum and Clarke hisses, feeling the air get stuck in her lungs.

“You’re blush all over” he murmurs against the skin between her breasts, and right now, she’s pretty sure her tits hate her for the bra she’s still wearing. His mouth is just _there_ and it’s such a pretty mouth.

That mouth kiss her softly on the center of her chest.

“Don’t stop what you’re doing, Clarke” he speaks against her, biting the top of one of her breasts later. He licks it too, soothing her skin.

“It’s not helping” she moans, arching against him, because she can feel his warmth but he’s still too goddamn away from her.

He hums against her skin, like that means something, but she can’t quite get the meaning. She’s frustrated and her thighs hurts. She’s going to protest just as Bellamy puts his hands down her sides and reaches her pants. With one pull, he drags the clothes down, taking her panties with him as well. Clarke closes her eyes, but doesn’t stop him, and her heart beats in her throat as she hears him murmuring, complaining, and taking off her boots too. She would laugh and everything, but.

She knows she is completely naked, except for the bra, and she covers her eyes with her free arm because seriously, she has nowhere to hide and she’s so ashamed. She listens to Bellamy's agitated breathing, and then she can feel his hands on her knees, positioning her on the blanket as he pleases.

If she were brave enough to open her eyes, she would be able to see him staring at her, but she doesn’t dare. She still has her fingers on her flesh, though she is not really doing anything with them, and she knows —because she feels it —that she is ridiculously wet. She opens her eyes, because Bellamy is way too quiet, and then is when she feels it. The boy's hair tickles her thighs, and she feels a kiss on her wet fingers.

_Oh my god._

The kiss turns into a wet caress, his tongue against her flesh, and Clarke's hips arch on their own.

"What are you doing?" The pain goes away, leaving only a tingling sensation all over her body, but she still pulls away from the boy, rising up with both hands on the blanket, forcing herself to look at him. Clarke is not stupid, she knows what oral sex is. It's not that she has ever done it before, but still.

Clarke withdraws a little, but Bellamy follows her with his mouth glued to her, and he grabs her hips to keep her still. Not only she feels the next lick but she sees it, because she is looking at him. Eyes closed, broad shoulders between her legs, pink tongue, and lips so red she wants to kiss him. God, she has not even kissed him and Bellamy is...

She wants to complain again, because she can’t stand it when Bellamy ignores her, but the boy touches her with his fingers too, and when she feels one of them inside her body, she forgets what she was going to say.

“Okay?” he asks, looking at her —between her fucking thighs, how the fuck has that happened? — while he moves his finger inside her, the digit stretching her and making her feel like something really good is about to happen if she has enough patience.

It’s a no brainer, really.

“Yeah. Okay, yeah. Just… warn me next time”

He smirks against her, and she can fucking feel it, but then he nuzzles her with his nose and lick at her again, his finger moving inside her and all Clarke can do is lay on her back and try her best to be quiet. It’s not an easy task, she discovers. Bellamy can use his mouth. A whole discovery, if you ask her.

He licks her and touches her slowly, taking his time, and Clarke can’t resist the urge to put her fingers through the boy's hair. Bellamy growls in response, and another finger enters her as a reward.

“I can hear you think” he says, voice totally wrecked, lips glistering in the dark. He licks them, and arches his fingers inside her, just at the right fucking spot, and Clarke hates herself but she moans. Of course, Bellamy does it again. And again. Until she’s just a panting mess and she’s fucking herself against his fingers, moving shamelessly against his hand. “That’s better.” He says, and she fucking agrees.

She’s going to come, she realizes, when he licks her again, his fingers touching her fast and dirty, obscene sounds in the air, but his tongue is barely circling her clit. It’s like a punishment, and her body loves it. When he closes his mouth and sucks, she breaks in half.

Clarke can’t moan anymore, she’s running out of air, and her lungs burn but it feels like a lighting licking her skin, and she’s coming. _Coming, coming, coming_ , until that’s all she can feel.

When she comes back to life, everything is blurry. She feels Bellamy kissing her hip, releasing her thighs. She feels… better, like she’s not dying anymore. There’s no fire in her skin, no pain in her muscles. Just a nice humming in her bones, and a handsome boy looking at her.

She forces her eyes open.

Bellamy is looking at her through foggy eyes, and half-mast eyelashes. His cheeks are blushed, and his fucking chin is wet. She has made that mess. He’s resting on his ankles again, just waiting for her to talk but she doesn’t know what to say. Thank you?

“Clarke, I…”

He is breathing hard, just like her, and they’re so fucking nosy in the middle of the quiet woods.

And she just smiles, because what the fuck is she supposed to do now? Hide beneath a rock?

She stands up, until she’s mimicking his posture, and he’s taller than her but it doesn’t matter. There’s such a relief in her body she feels lax and content. No more pain, she thinks, breathing for the first time in forever.

“Sorry” he murmurs, so quietly it’s merely a whisper.

“What for?”

“Not asking for permission” he says, like it’s so obvious.

“You’re forgiven”

“No, Clarke, that was a dick move and…”

She can’t help the smile on her lips before she leans in and kiss him. His mouth is wet and slippery, and it taste like her, but she couldn’t care less. She licks him and he gasps, surprised. And when she tangles her fingers in his hair, he purrs against her and she loves it.

It’s so odd, she thinks, kissing Bellamy because this morning she couldn’t even stand him, not that much, and now she’s kissing him. She feels like she’s high, but it’s not possible.

“What do you want?” She asks, licking his lower lip, and pressing her chest to him. It doesn’t hurt anymore, there’s not fire and no rush, just her skin against Bellamy’s.

“What? Jesus Clarke, it’s fine. I was just helping” Bellamy’s voice is low and husky but he really sounds surprised, like he wasn’t expecting anything for touching her.

But his hard on is hot against her stomach, a warm reminder that he’s turn on. Because of her.

“I’m not giving you blue balls” she attacks him with his own words.

“You’re not giving me anything. It’s not your fault my dick has his own plans”

She’s not going to convince him by talking, she knows that already, because arguing with him always took a lot of time.

“Would you lie down with me for a while?”

“Sure”

He lets her lead the way and then covers them with the blanket. Bellamy is resting on his back, and she’s still not wearing clothes —just that goddamn ugly bra, really— so it’s really easy to straddle him, sitting on top of him.

“Are you insane?”

Bellamy tries to sit down, just like she has done when he was licking her, but Clarke urges him back to the ground, grinding her pelvis to his hard on, until he’s groaning.

“Clarke…” he warns, but she doesn’t really care. If talk is not going to do it, then she’s touching him. End of discussion. She doesn’t answer, just unbutton his pants and gets her hand inside his boxers.

She enjoys the warm weight against her hand, and then she fists him. His hips move on their own, and he bites his lips, like he doesn’t want to make a sound.

“Jesus Christ, Clarke. Just…” Bellamy has closed her eyes and it feels like a victory.

“Just what?” she murmurs, mesmerized by his abs muscles contracting.

She hardens her hold on him, because he’s taking too long to answer.

“Don’t stop” he pleas, like she’s planning to. Like she could.

It takes her a while, but she finds the rhythm that makes him shudder, and she tortures him with it. Slow and hard, from the top to the base, just enjoying the new sensation because it’s the first time she has the freedom to explore a guy like this.

Bellamy whimpers, biting his mouth and his chest is so hot —she’s touching him there too, so sue her. His chest is beautiful— she needs to kiss it. Leaning in, Clarke kisses his sternum, just like he’s done before with her.

He grunts, and then Bellamy opens his eyes, looking at her through clouded eyes.

“You feeling okay?” he asks.

“Fine. You?” she tightens her hand around him, mocking him.

“You know what I mean”

“I’m good” she assures him, while increasing the tempo “Really. Everything is back to normal now”

He arches beneath her, seeking her hand, and she kisses him because she feels like it. Bellamy doesn’t close his eyes, and neither does she. It’s like he’s trying to find what’s wrong but there’s nothing wrong anymore. When he can’t find anything, his eyelids fall down and his mouth opens, kissing her back.

It’s a hard kiss, and Clarke pants in surprise, losing the rhythm with her hand. But Bellamy is right there a second later, grabbing her hand with his, and helping her with the task.

It feels good, to let him guide her, faster and rougher than she was doing it, and all that Clarke can do is kiss him back. She’s swallowing his curses when he comes, warm and liquid between their fingers, brazing her with his free arm, a fist so hard on her hair she moans against his lips too.

His breath is fast and shallow, but he doesn’t let go of her.

“Are you freaking out right now?” she asks, staring at his swollen lips, and touching his wet abs —maybe it’s crazy, but she likes the way the muscles tight beneath her touch.

“Are you?” he asks back, panting.

“A little” she confesses because what the fuck are they supposed to do now?

“Yeah” he agrees, but he doesn’t let go of her, he just presses her against his chest, brazing her, and arranging the blanket to cover their bodies.

She can feel his heartbeat steading and she wants to ask again but he’s tracing patrons on her back, and his chest is warm. Nobody can really blame her if she falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> If you got this long please let me know what you think about this nonsense?  
> Love ya


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